1 Poetry

+--+
Often I wake.
To a great distance, I focus my gaze
through the window out past the gate,
between the cloud and shadow's sway...
There is a shape that moves in grey.
Something like long robes from an olden age,
draped over some great, grotesque frame.
Treading tall...

+--+
Lo, I see.
Through the fog and freeze,
through the reddened evergreens
hung still on the breeze.
Nine of each kind to appease
the lordly, wise and mighty.
Lo, I hear.
Now, my fathers sing
on rising winds through the trees,
and slowly they swing.
Silenced in awe and...